Simple Pleasures
by LadyFangs
Summary: They both liked the finer things in life. And at this moment, that meant each other. An "In His Skin" outtake


**_*Disclaimer: All mistakes are mine. Characters belong to Marvel. I do not own, but I do love._**

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><p><strong>Simple Pleasures<strong>

**By AquaSoulSis aka LadyFangs  
><strong>

He liked the finer things in life.

Red wines, instead of white.

Three Floyds, instead of Pabst.

Rare, instead of well.

He liked his pussy the same way.

Most of the time the pussy came to him, not the other way around. He supposed there was something about him they liked.

Maybe it was 'cause they could sense danger- and they wanted the rush.

Or maybe they had delusions of him being the "bad boy" and them being the "good girl."

Those were the dumb ones.

The easy ones.

He enjoyed them for a quick, or not so quick, blow. They never got anything more. He'd give 'em a few dollars, and send them on their way. He'd take them out behind the bar, get blow, and leave 'em.

The ones that whined and begged… he shut 'em up quick. He'd learned early on that some just weren't worth the effort.

Then, there was mid-grade.

Those were good for a little more. Maybe a few tumbles around a motel bed. They liked to play hard to get- but really, only ever fooled themselves. He'd been in the game long enough to know exactly how and when it would end. And they always wound up in a bed.

He'd fuck them.

Liked to listen to them scream and squeal.

Hard. Fast. Rough.

He wasn't a cum-quick kind of guy.

But when he was done, he was done.

Watch them walk bowlegged on shaky knees to the bathroom and when they came out he was dressed and walking out the door.

Then, they'd start to pout and moan.

And he'd have to remind them too—it was their deal, not his.

Besides, at least for them, he'd cover the room.

But what Victor really liked, were the finer things. And when it came to women, there had really only ever been one.

She was different from the jump.

For one, _he'd_ had to pursue _her_.

A familiar bar, the usual setting, but SHE was different.

Brown skin, not pale, white hair, not blond.

Blue eyes- unique.

Tall, curvy in all the right places.

And she didn't look twice at him.

So he bought her a drink.

And was genuinely surprised when it came back.

Spent the rest of the night watching her.

And followed her outside when she rose to leave.

He'd planned to take her by force if he had too- but he never got the chance, when she surprised him for the second time in the same amount of hours, by taking off into the sky. He couldn't follow her there.

He had to see her again.

Yea, he liked the finer things. Liked it better when he'd earned it too.

Three months later, after carefully orchestrating their meetings, he found out her name.

"Ororo."

Four months later, after getting her name, he got her number.

Five months later after doing something he never did, he took her out.

And six months later, she was in HIS bed.

Not a dingy alley. Not a motel. HIS bed.

The place no one knew he owned.

He watched as she strolled casually naked to the clear glass window overlooking the park.

He liked how the moon's light shined off her hair.

"It's beautiful."

He removed what was left of the sheets, shredded from their sex, and went to stand behind her, letting his cock swell against the curve of her ass as he wrapped his arms around her waist and extended his claws to graze her belly.

She leaned back into his touch, as one hand dropped to slip between her thighs.

He stroked her, being careful not to cut the soft folds…

She arched- letting his hardness slip between the full cheeks of her ass…as he pulled her closer…he wanted to be inside.

They stayed like that—body to body…he let her direct and guide…what she wanted. What she needed…

Every movement she made sent spasms of pleasure down his body and when long, slim fingers reached back and began to fondle him he could only silently plead for her to let him in…

She did.

And they did.

Against the glass.

Eighteen floors off the ground.

Until SHE came—his name on her lips…

And HER name was the last thing he screamed.

He woke up on the floor, with her asleep and curled up in his arms.

_It's beautiful, _she'd said.

He looked out the window, at tops of trees forming a rectangle, surrounded by steel and glass- a paradise, in the middle of a concrete jungle.

He stroked her.

Raising his free hand to let her hair slip through his fingers, he gently felt her body- from her head, to her shoulders, around to her breasts, so full and heavy, her belly, firm and tight, her hips- round and wide, long, long legs…

In her sleep, she moaned, and scooted closer to him.

"_You're _beautiful," his lips grazed the back of her neck as he murmured the words against her skin.

Yes, he liked the finer things in life. And she _was _fine.

She'd made him work for it.

A job well done.

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><p>She liked the finer things in life.<p>

White wines, instead of red.

Sly Fox Keller, instead of Heineken

Medium-well, instead of rare.

Practical, over high fashion.

She liked her men the same way.

But she found, most of the time, she got the pretty ones. The ones that looked like they'd spent more time on their makeup than she had.

If it wasn't them, it was the sloppy ones. Too drunk or high to make even the most basic of passes. Staring at her tits and ass like it was their last meal.

Those were the dumb ones.

The easy ones.

They always got rejected.

Then there were mid-grade.

The business men. Trying so hard to impress her with their money. Their cars. Their…things.

The imp in her liked to mess with them.

Let them take her out, only to split the tab at the end of the meal.

Or get bored midway through the conversation for lack of a real connection.

They were all the same. More concerned about their things than their women.

Those she left. She was no one's hood ornament.

They learned real quick when she walked out the door, not even a side glance back.

No, what Ororo REALLY wanted, were the finer things. But when it came to men, there had only ever been one.

He'd been different from the start.

Tall, dark hair and eyes, a beard that needed a shave, thick neck, strong back.

He'd pursued her, and, she'd tested.

Sending the drink back because it wasn't her style. A lager- she was a pilsner.

But she had to admit- he had good taste.

He'd spent the rest of the night watching her; she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back.

Square jaw, piercing eyes, rough hands, and at least 6'5…broad, stocky. SOLID…

When she rose to leave, he followed.

So she took off vertically, into the night sky. Trying to shake the stranger in black from her mind.

Still, she had to see him again.

Three months later, after carefully orchestrating their meetings, she found out his name.

"Victor."

Four months later, cause she knew better than to give it up quick, she gave him her number.

Five months later, she did something she never did- went out with an-almost stranger.

And six months later, she was in HIS bed.

A high-rise overlooking central park.

Sparsely furnished, but obviously well tailored.

A place she got the feeling had never seen a woman's touch.

She undressed him- dropping the worn black trench coat to the ground.

Her fingers slowly worked to undo the buttons on the shirt- revealing a hard chest coated with thick dark hair. She let her fingers follow the beautiful dark trail down his stomach, feeling the tight muscles all the way down…down…down….

His pants hit the floor, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips at what stood to greet her—

Taking it gently in her hands to feel the weight of it…the warmth, the length, the girth…

He was impatient when his mouth found hers. Her clothes fell off, and she was under him as he began to move oh so deliciously slow and deep, between her thighs.

She awoke before he did, and took a moment to look at him- eyes closed, breathing even, and his chest rising and falling in rhythm.

Her hand found his, as she rolled over, her fingers brushing against hard, sharp…claws.

She smiled against his cheek as he stirred, opening his eyes to look into hers.

She lowered her lips to his and he met them eagerly. She pulled away before he could get any more, rising from their bed, reveling in her nakedness, knowing he was watching as she walked toward the window and looked out over the park.

"It's beautiful."

The bed creaked and she heard him rise, his heavy frame moving almost silently across the floor. She didn't look at him, but felt his heat behind her—felt his heavy manhood swell against the curve of her ass, so hard it felt like wood against her back…his claws grazed gently between her thighs…

Gently stroking—careful not to hurt…

What she wanted…what she needed.

She moved against him, reaching back to stroke him, guide him…raising up on her toes and arching back into his embrace to let him in.

Her eyes closed and a moan escaped her lips as she felt him enter her folds…expanding the walls and filling her.

He fucked her against the glass.

Eighteen floors off the ground.

Until SHE came.

Her name on his lips.

And HIS name was the last thing she screamed.

She came to on the floor, curled up in long, muscular arms.

He thought she was sleep, and she resisted the urge to lean into his touch as he stroked her.

Felt his lips at the back of her neck, as he murmured words against her skin.

"Beautiful…" she heard him say. Somehow, the words had never been so real.

She liked the finer things. And he was one of them.

She'd made him work for it.

A job well done.


End file.
